Aloha, my lovelies!

I'm off to Hawaii in the morning to experience all kinds of Hawaiian condiments like chile pepper water and other things which I don't know about...yet. It's all part of the discovery of travel. As soon as I consume my recommended quota of pretty drinks with umbrellas in them (sigh, if *only* they were edible, condiment umbrellas. Somebody should get on that right away.) I may order a dish or two and see what dipping sauces are brought to my table.

So, I don't know if I'll be getting to the blog while I'm away, but we'll see.

In the meantime, a tidbit. I was watching an excellent HBO series, Rome, and had a condiment alert. A smoking hot soldier by the name of Titus Pullo, one of our heroes, was leaving for a long journey and battle. And before he left, he absolutely had to fill his flask of vinegar. Vinegar, like most condiments in the days before Heinz, was an expensive and rare thing that would be coveted and appreciated for days.

Perhaps I should fill my vinegar flask before I go. You never know what they're going to serve you on the planes these days!

Aloha!

Condiment Grrl

This Week in Condiments

Raspberry Honey Mustard as a dipping sauce for pretzels?

I guess it could happen. Many things could happen. I heard about this combination from a friend who runs a wonderful local blog for parents: Tacoma Kids. And it's another one for the "Wow, I never thought of THAT combination, but now that you say it, it sounds amazing!" And yes, that's the technical name. There's a newish store that sells fresh meat and produce nearby and they also have a big condiment rack in the middle of the store. Periodically, they put out samples of their condiments for hungry shoppers (usually harried moms who've just picked up their kids from school).

I have to stop and comment here that I find it amusing that a small store would still find enough market value to devote a good portion of their floor space to condiments. It speaks to the strength, the power, the indescribable allure of condiments.

Asian Italian Fusion Dipping Sauce

Last night, Baby Balsamic and I took Big Daddy Condiment to a local Italian restaurant. While they put out lovely little bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar(!), they didn't ever see fit to put bread on our table. Not that I could have any (trying to be gluten-free, you know, which plays havoc with trying dipping sauces. Sigh). But I did enjoy adding a balsamic element to my caesar salad. Deep-fried green beans were the appetizer of choice and they came with an interesting dipping sauce: a hot, sweet sauce that I'm used to experiencing with spring rolls. They were tasty, but the breading was a bit too thick and drowned the taste of the green beans.

However, I got to watch my father use the rest of the mixture to dip his steak into, even though it came with a cascade of sauteed onion sauce. You wonder how I became what I am.

Red wine vinegar - a true love

Last week, I made up a salad dressing involving olive oil, shallots, red wine vinegar and an almost nauseating amount of dijon mustard. And yet, and yet. It reminded me of a time when balsamic was but a word I glimpsed when gazing longingly at the Chez Panisse menu in my childhood. When red wine vinegar was the center and the light of my young world.

It's late and I need to post this, but I will get the recipe up in the next few days.

Condiment Grrl

Oh, Aunt Penny, how could you?

Look at the can below. Doesn't it make you a little nostalgic for the days when you'd bop home in your paisley orange Ford Pinto , your eight-track player blaring "Frampton Comes Alive," groceries (in paper bags, natch) piled into your deadly trunk filled with foods that you had to prepare fast for your stone-cold fox of a date? You didn't have time to make a totally homemade dinner because you can have the town, why don't you take it, so you popped a can of Aunt Penny's into your bag, heated it and poured it over your asparagus, right before you turned the lights off and the lava lamp on. Then you and your date gently lifted the spoons to your mouth at the same time. As the hollandaise made it's way to your taste buds, you waited for the lemony, creamy joy. As you tasted the actual floury, chemical taste of this monstrosity, you stared at your date in horror, watching the bad bad flavors chase the look of lust off his face.

Okay, I got a little carried away with that intro and now the Mary Tyler Moore theme song is entrenched in my head and I'll be humming it for the foreseeable future. I've been hard on condiments in the past, but this travesty by FAR ranks as the worst thing I've tasted. I could barely dip one stalk of asparagus in it before I ran to the kitchen for my old standby, Lemon Dill and Caper sauce. I couldn't find any discernable flavor except for lard and flour. It's also choc-full-o' partially hydrogenated soybean oil and other bad chemicals.

Now, it's funny, as I type this I'm aware that even though I was a little kid through most of the 70s, it carries a lot of nostalgia for me (I'm listening to Cat Stevens as I type this). I miss its own brand of innocence, its self-involvement, and its feathered hair (although that's making a comeback).

But, honestly, condiment-wise, bring on the future. Back in the 70s, we didn't have the selection we have now of fennel-infused, cranberry scented, peppercorn be-studded taste treats that we can happily mate with our asparagus. And so much of what is produced today has mostly good ingredients!

Who can turn the world on with a smile? Not Aunt Penny.

Condiment Grrl

Why don't I like Roasted Red Peppers? Why?

And why is it a main ingredient in so many otherwise tempting sauces? Many an otherwise enticing restaurant dish has turned me off when I see that the rub or garnish or marinade consists of roasted red bell pepper. The mustyish taste does NOTHING for me.

Short post. I'm still in a bit of pain. Again, I say sweet muscle relaxants.

Tonight, I was nibbling on huge, lucious red onion rings. I could have reached for the ketchup, but instead, I used the sauce provided -- a reddish, tasty-looking froth of roasted red peppers. I really tried.

I just don't like it. I like raw bell peppers, but I can't stand them cooked. Why? And why won't the rest of the world follow my lead and leave them out of sauces, so I can really live up to my charter and enjoy all condiments.

So many mysteries.

Condiment Grrl

Muscle Relaxants need no additional condiments

It's painful for me to type right now. And I'm writing under the influence of a lovely muscle relaxant. Lovely, happy pills. I know that right now you're thinking "Condiment Grrl! What happened? Did you injure yourself trying to wrench the top off a hundred year old jar of caper relish?"

Alas, no.

I injured myself...uh...sleeping. Yes, last Thursday morning I awoke and stretched my arms over my head, and something bad happened in my shoulder. They don't know what to call it -- bursitis or tendonitis or something. But muscle relaxants make it all better....

In the meantime, I've been enjoying my new Greek thyme mustard and rediscovered my love of basic Dijon vinaigrette, especially when you liberally add shallots.

Okay, I am twitching and not in a good way. Keep wrenching those jars open for me!

Condiment Grrl

Aioli Pancakes!

Not really, but there is a show that has totally entranced Baby Balsamic -- Mustard Pancakes!

Of course, you're saying to yourself right now "You let your child watch television? Say it isn't so, Condiment Grrl!" Yes, yes, I started out with a very purist attitude. Baby Balsamic would only play with toys made of wood from living trees that had lost a branch through age or winds, not the oppressive machinery of man. And we would never watch TV, but only spend hours reading wholesome books about nature when we weren't creating living butterfly farms out of organic hemp rope. Yeah, and then she turned 2. Suck it up, people. I'm as human as the rest of you.

And this show is on PBS where there's no commercials unless they're for Mobile Oil. And all she sees during those commercials are Elk frolicking with the joy of having a pipeline running through their terrain.

Okay, fine, I'm going to hell, but I NEED TO DRINK MY COFFEE SOMETIMES.

And I found this show on PBS that I thought at first was a rerun from the late 70s/early 80s. There's this woman in a living room with hideous furniture singing songs surrounded by three puppet dogs (one of whom is named Oogleberry Ink Dog) and one puppet cat. They sing about deep and meaningful things like spilling juice on the carpet and how butterflies in butterfly farms live short, brutish lives.

Really, between Courtney's haircut and clothing and the lighting, it really felt like a show that I used to watch when I was a kid. But it was sweet and it absolutely entranced Baby Balsamic. She loves songs sung on guitar, but it is done much better by her Great Auntie Jane Timberlake. Her "Silly Old Song" is Baby Balsamic's favorite song of all time. And there was something catch about the puppets getting down to songs that sounded a bit like Cat Stevens in his happy 60s druggie days.

And the show is sponsored by a mustard company! Morehouse Foods which apparently, according to their website, just won the Napa Valley Mustard competition this year. I did some grueling research (walked to my kitchen), only to discover that I don't own any Morehouse mustard, but the label is familiar, so I'm sure that I have been in possession at some point.

Now, I'm in a quandary -- what if I'm letting Baby Balsamic watch a show sponsored by a mustard that does not make my taste buds tingle in anticipation the way my new Greek mustard does (Zorba the Thyme mustard is very tasty)? What kind of message am I sending her? What kind of morals am I imparting to her impressionable brain?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go flush some more unfortunate butterflies down the toilet.

Condiment Grrl

P.S. No butterflies were harmed in the creation of this blog post.

Zorba's true name is....THYME!

So, tonight, I finally twisted off the top of my mysterious Greek mustard (the only english writing on the label is "Balsoman") and dipped into it's exotic flavors. At first, I thought, "it's tarted up French's mustard." In other words, just typical mustard stuffed into a jar with lots of Greek writing. Then I realized, it wasn't quite as bitter as most mustards and there was a lingering flavor on the tongue. What was it? I took another bite of the breaded pork chop and pondered my lack of formal foodie training -- I can't take a sip of wine and be all "it has a berry start, then an oaky undertone with a hint of raisons and okra." Hmmm...okra wine. That would sit right next to the Lutefisk vodka on the grocery shelf.

I knew the flavor was herby -- rosemary or sage or some such. And I recognized it from my spice shelf, but it took me a minute to finally identify the mustard as a thyme mustard. And it was really good. I've heard tell there's a man at work who reads Greek, so I'm going to bring him the bottle and see if he can tell me what it says and we'll see if I'm right.

It went well with asparagus and I can't wait to try it with a roast chicken. Maybe I'll cut it with a little mayonnaise because I'm American and we must always have much fat in our diet.

Condiment Grrl